


My Christopher

by orphan_account



Category: Cinderella 2015
Genre: Fever, Gen, five year old Kit, mother - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 23:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4684985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kit has a fever, the physicians fearing it fatal, and his mother stays with him through the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Christopher

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” The physician murmured, bowing his head as the Queen fought back tears. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re wrong.” She choked, a fierce note in her voice that was unavoidably associated with the determination of a loving mother. “He can survive this, he’s my son.” She didn’t even convince herself, the painfully small body in her arms giving out a weak shudder of a breath, the rising and falling of his tiny chest shortening gradually. The physician placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, only to be coldly shrugged off. He didn’t take offence, only nodding solemnly before departing, his heart heavy.

The prince was the very life of the palace, had been able to make anyone smile on any given day, he had taught his father how to laugh again and he had shown half the court was carefree really meant. Without him, the world would be dark, indeed, and so young. He was barely five, his life had not even begun.

The King was locked away in his study, refusing to see anyone. He had been in there for four days, sleeping in there and not even eating. He had retreated to his self inflicted solitary confinement when the doctor had declared it was life threatening, he didn’t want to hear anymore. Everyday since then, the prince’s health had steadily decreased, the fever tearing through him.Abrianna did not leave his side, taking her meals with him if she ate and slept with him in silent vigil, heart wrenching as the brief periods of consciousness depleted. When she was alone, she wept, murmuring words in her mother tongue to her beautiful angel of a baby, her only surviving child. He could survive a little fever, surely.

“ _Torna da me, il mio Cristoforo_.” She begged, pushing back a stray lock of dark hair from his face as she shook with unwilling sobs. “I can’t live without you, my darling.”

Her Christopher was the world to her and her husband, the absolute world, and it pained her to even see him hurt and ache, to think of him suffering. He was so clearly suffering now, he didn’t even have enough strength to thrash and kick anymore, covered in sweat and burning, his flesh was hotter than the melting wax of the candles on the bedside. His once bright blue eyes were dulling down, and glazing over, but they had been closed by quite sometime.

“I love you.”

Abrianna had married Fredrick when she was seventeen, and although she was young she was convinced she would be happy, and if she wasn’t she didn’t have a choice, anyway. They had been deliriously happy, until the lack of an heir had begun to drag them down from where they floated amid the clouds. They tried, and tried and tried, and after ten full years they had been blessed by a pregnancy, only for the Crown Princess to be stillborn. They had another boy, born three years before Kit (so her husband named their darling), but a fever took him six months into his life. Now, it seemed as though another fever had been sent to claim the light of her life. After all those years of trying, of praying, of tears and heartbreak, Abrianna was not prepared to relinquish her hold on her Christopher.

“ _Il mio Cristoforo_.” She pleaded, holding him closer as he made a weak attempt to flail his arm in his delirious dreams. “Please, don’t leave me here, my little boy.” She remembered when she first held him, how terrified she was of how much she loved him already, how afraid she was that he was so delicate and small. But, he had strong lungs and nothing had delighted her so much as to hear him smile and giggle. Now, he was just as helpless as he had been the first time they laid him in her arms, and she suffered far more agony.

She kissed his forehead, although it was beaded by sweat and hotter than a kettle at boil, and rocked him as he groaned in his fitful sleep. He will not last the night, Your Majesty. I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Please, Your Majesty, you must sleep. Please, Your Majesty, you need to eat. Their words haunted her as she clung onto him through the night, right up until the first lights of dawn graced the sky. She hardly believed it as she looked down at her treasure, drawing him closer to her chest.

“ _Il mio Cristoforo_.” Abrianna sniffed. “My baby.” And, despite all the warnings of the physicians and doctors and healers, her baby stirred in her arms, and moaning slightly said one word. “Mamma.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Torna da me, il mio Cristoforo - Come back to me, my Christopher (please note I used google translate).


End file.
